Distresses
by petalled
Summary: Ficlet. "It's just that... Before we go any further, there's something you should know." He raised an eyebrow. "Now?" "Yes, now. Right now. It's about... Well, it's about me and what's down there. I- I'm not like other girls."


**Disclaimer:** GW = not mine.

**Author's Note: **Because illness fries your brain. (sighs) The title is actually a pun on the twist and the premise.

**Distresses  
by mistress amethyst une**

When Dorothy first agreed to accompany Quatre for a groundbreaking ceremony at an artificial oasis in the Sahara, she never expected to find herself in his curiosity of a tent. She was expecting Spartan accommodations considering the door to this abode opened with a zipper. She should have known better. Quatre had a thing for exceeding expectations.

Electricity, internet access, air conditioning, refrigerated food storage. Every creature comfort imaginable was available within these four walls of cloth. It was hard to imagine that mere fabric separated them from the harshness of the desert outside.

"Spider silk," he explained. "It's stronger than steel. And everything in here is solar powered. This is how I ran my base of operations during desert campaigns."

"I see," she replied, trying to sound unimpressed even as she ran her hands over the inside of the tent. Her gaze then drifted to the floor, enthralled by the riot of color she found there. It was a stark contrast to the dull spider silk walls dyed to match the sand outside. Vibrant blues and whites woven together to form crashing waves and seafoam comprised the soft surface beneath her feet. It was the sea and she was walking on water. "And the carpet?"

"A gift from the Maganac corps," he grinned. "Water is lacking here but there's an abundance of sand. With that tapestry, it's almost as if I'm on the beach."

"With no risk of drowning," she added, unable to hide her amusement any longer. "So, is this where I'm staying the night? Where's the bedding?"

"Where WE'RE staying the night," he corrected. "And as for bedding, there is none. I don't intend on sleeping."

She could have sworn every trace of innocence left his face with those words.

"Excuse me?"

He closed the space between them, leaving a scant inch between their lips. She could still smell the coffee on his breath, a rich Moroccan blend they had shared before disembarking from the jet. She should have known. He always drank tea, told her coffee left him too jittery to get a good night's rest.

"I'm ready," he muttered, before claiming her mouth with his.

"Finally," she thought to herself, her hand snaking around to hold his head steady even as she felt her knees go weak. How many times had she propositioned him only to be rebuffed with virginal shyness? It was about time.

They parted for a moment as she helped him pull off his tee. She lay down against the carpet ocean and he followed her to the floor. This was more than a make-out session and they were swiftly crossing over into uncharted territory. She ran her hand over the scar in his side, smiling into his kisses. She had penetrated him first, and it was only fair that he return the favor. Still, a sense of trepidation was building. There were things he didn't know about her, things that could very well ruin this experience. As Quatre's mouth moved against hers, she felt deft fingers making quick work of the buttons on her blouse. His other hand hiked her skirt up before stroking its way up her thigh to her-

"Wait!" yelped Dorothy, tearing her mouth away with a gasp.

Quatre froze, confusion in his eyes as he looked at her. With her long blonde tresses fanned out against the faux blue sea, she could very well have been a siren. Still, he resisted the urge to continue. "What is it? Did I do something wrong?"

She should have known he would blame himself. When it came to sexual matters, she was the veteran. "No, no. Nothing's wrong," she breathed. "It's just that... Before we go any further, there's something you should know."

He raised an eyebrow. "Now?"

"Yes, now. Right now. It's about... Well, it's about me and what's down there. I- I'm not like other girls."

"I know that."

"You do?"

"Look, whatever you're about to tell me, it's probably a notion I've already entertained and really, I don't care. I go both ways."

"Huh?"

He blushed. "You're probably having a hard time putting it into words. Let's just leave it unsaid." He was so close. Damn it, he needed this. Dipping down to kiss her once more, he found her unresponsive.

Sighing, Quatre stopped and found himself face to face with her glare. Uh oh...

"You thought I was going to say I used to be a man, didn't you?" she accused.

Uh...

"Maybe?"

"Quatre!"

"Look! I'm sorry! I jumped to conclusions. Damn it, I want you. I don't care what it is. You could have tentacles down there and I still wouldn't care-"

"Tentacles?"

"I'm sorry! What is it? I really don't care!"

Her face was on fire both out of embarrassment and anger but it was apparent that she wouldn't be pushing him off her any time soon. They were both too turned on to turn back now.

"The carpet doesn't match the drapes," she blurted. "I'm a brunette. I dye my hair blonde."

The look he gave her seemed almost disappointed. No, it was DEFINITELY disappointed. It practically screamed "That's it?"

"I already knew that."

"What? But you've never seen my-"

"Your eyebrows are a dead giveaway."

Sexual novice or not, Quatre recognized that a slap in the face was far from standard procedure during intercourse.

* * *

This plot bunny came to me last night while I was in my fever haze. Still in the fever haze. Trying to make myself feel better. As for why she dyes her hair blonde, my personal thoughts are her hair started turning white after the stress of her father's death hit her.


End file.
